


don't use numbers

by horatioandophelia



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Eating Disorders, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Getting Together, M/M, Protest Gone Wrong, hospital tw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-13
Updated: 2019-09-13
Packaged: 2020-10-17 12:30:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20621063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/horatioandophelia/pseuds/horatioandophelia
Summary: Grantaire is the only one who really knows what happened at that protest that turned violent, and Enjolras can't bear to face him even though Grantaire is adamant it wasn't his fault. It's just easier to blame himself instead.TW: eating disorders, hospitals, depictions of violence





	don't use numbers

Enjolras stared down at the granola bar, his breathing shallow. His throat contracted involuntarily as he read and reread its label:  _ 210 calories per serving.  _

_ 210 calories. That means if I eat this, then I’ll skip the little container of almonds leftover from yesterday, and if I just have some toast for dinner then I’ll still be under 1,000 calories today. That’s doable. _

Nodding briskly to himself, he felt the familiar sense of calm wash over him and his breathing evened out.  _ Nothing to worry about.  _

“Enjolras!” called Courfeyrac from across the Corinthe. Enjolras’s head snapped up and he shoved the granola bar back into his pocket. 

“Are you going to come out with us tonight? Jehan’s promised to DD so we can get absolutely wrecked, my dude,” Courfeyrac continued, throwing up a ‘rock on’ sign with his right hand and pointing at Enjolras with his left. 

Enjolras smiled tightly.  _ Can I do that? How much can I drink - how many calories are in a shot? I haven’t eaten much today. I could probably make it work without anybody noticing, I’m such a lightweight anyway.  _

“Yeah, why not?” he said, shrugging. 

“Sweet!” cried Courfeyrac, punching the air. “You’re the last one! That means everyone’s coming!”

“That’ll be great,” said Enjolras, smiling genuinely now. “I haven’t seen Bossuet in ages! Or Feuilly!”  _ Or Grantaire, not really, not since --  _

“I know,” sighed Courfeyrac dramatically, interrupting Enjolras’s train of thought. “And Grantaire’s coming too - ” Enjolras’s stomach lept - “But I can’t believe Feuilly and Bossuet  _ abandoned _ us for Rome - I bet they speak  _ impeccable  _ Italian and have all the best pasta recipes now. Reckon we can snag some tips on how to bake ziti the real Italian way, not like at Olive Garden?”

Enjolras’s throat contracted again. “I don’t know,” he said, swallowing around the weight of terror in the back of his mouth. “Maybe they’ll be willing to share.”

Courfeyrac nodded. “We can only hope. Come on,” he said. “I’ll give you a ride to Jehan’s. Gotta pregame,” he added, winking.

Enjolras zipped up his backpack, determinedly ignoring the way his throat had reacted when Courfeyrac had mentioned pasta. And Grantaire. 

On his way out, he surreptitiously tossed the granola bar in the trash.

“Yay! You’re here!” shrieked Jehan, their tiny arms encircling Enjolras as soon as he walked through the door. “We were so worried that Courf wouldn’t be able to talk you into coming!”

Enjolras grinned down at the little poet, whose hair barely tickled his nose. “Glad I came, then,” he said. “Courf said everybody was coming?”

“Oh, yes,” beamed Jehan. “Everyone is either on their way or - ” they paused for dramatic effect, “ - already here!”

“Hi, Enjolras!” cried Feuilly, pulling a disgruntled Bossuet with him from the couch. “It’s so good to see you, oh my God!”

“I can walk, you know,” said Bossuet grumpily, before turning to smile and shake hands with Enjolras. “What’s up? Been a while.”

“Yeah,” said Enjolras. “We missed you at meetings,” he added.

Bossuet laughed as Feuilly just shook his head. “Ah,” he said. “There’s the Enjolras we know and love.”

They both turned towards Jehan and Enjolras breathed a sigh of relief.  _ Nine kilos,  _ he thought,  _ and they didn’t notice. Thank God. _

At the club everyone was already slightly trashed, but no one more so than Enjolras. He could hardly remember where their friend group was - was it behind him? Had they moved earlier? Who was the pink-haired person beside him? Oh, wait that was Jehan… They seemed to be enjoying themselves, dancing expertly with - Courfeyrac? Enjolras couldn’t focus on faces under the pulsing lights, and decided to let himself just drift with the music, until Jehan let out a monumental cry of joy.

_ “Grantaire!” _

And there he was, in all his scruffy glory, the artist himself. Enjolras looked down at his shoes, trying to avoid the necessity of making conversation, but to no avail; a few minutes after greeting everybody in the group, Grantaire made his way over.

“Hi, Apollo,” he said, barely audible over the thumping of the speakers. 

Enjolras took a deep breath. “Hello,” he said.

Grantaire smiled softly. “How have you been?”

“Fine,” said Enjolras tightly.  _ Please go away. Please ask me if I’m okay again. Please leave. Please take my hand.  _

Grantaire frowned at him. “Apollo?”

“I’m fine,” said Enjolras again, the room spinning, his throat fluttering. He was seized by the sudden urge to sink to the floor and sob. “I think I’m going to go to the bathroom,” he said faintly.

“Let me help you,” said Grantaire. “I don’t think you can walk. My God, Enjolras, how much have you had to drink?” he asked, lifting Enjolras’s arm over his shoulder and wrapping an arm around him.

“Don’t know,” said Enjolras blurrily. “Wait, don’t, I’m fine - ” he said as Grantaire’s arm circled his ribcage, his warm hand an undeniable brand against the bones protruding there.

Drunk as he was, Enjolras could still feel the moment that Grantaire stiffened next to him, his fingers adjusting themselves disbelievingly over Enjolras’s ribs, stretched tight against his skin. “Enjolras?” 

Enjolras turned to look at him, opening his mouth to reply, to give some excuse, but Grantaire’s eyes were larger than he’d ever seen them and his mouth was full of surprise and pain. He closed his eyes. 

“I’m fine,” he repeated, his voice breaking, trying not to think about kissing that mouth. Even with his eyes closed, the room was still spinning. 

“Enjolras,” said Grantaire somewhere to his left, more gentle than Enjolras had ever heard him. “Is this because of the protest?”

Enjolras jerked away, lurching and listing madly as the room spun around him. “No!”

“Apollo --”

_ “Stop it!”  _ Enjolras sobbed. “I said I’m  _ fine!” _

Suddenly he was in the center of the room, eyes staring at him from all corners of the club. His throat was spasming uncontrollably now and his knees seemed to be giving out. The faces of people, real and imagined, whirled around him relentlessly as his shoulder hit the floor with a sickening  _ crack  _ and his vision blacked out. 

  
  


“Enjolras?” came a voice somewhere above him. “Hey, Enjolras, it’s us.”

Enjolras squinted in the white glare. “Huh?”

Jehan’s voice floated through his mind. “You’re in the hospital, Enj.”

Enjolras felt his whole body go taut, and his eyes shot open. “Hey, no,” said Jehan. “No, Enj, it’s okay - ”

“Why did you take me to the hospital?” demanded Enjolras, his heart racing. His throat was fluttering again. 

It seemed like everyone he knew was in the hospital room: Combeferre and Courfeyrac; Feuilly and Bossuet; Joly, Bahorel, Musichetta; Eponine was holding Jehan’s hand; even Marius and Cosette were hovering by the window. Grantaire watched from the corner of the room, bags under his eyes. Enjolras turned his head away, shame curdling in his gut. 

“You broke your collarbone,” said Courfeyrac, leaning over the bed to take his hand. He glanced at Jehan. “Joly was initially the one who said you should go to the hospital, but we - we all agreed with him once…” 

“Once the paramedics took off your shirt to see your shoulder,” finished Jehan quietly. 

There was a silence. Enjolras’s lungs were far too small for this kind of strain.

“Why didn’t you tell us, Enj?” asked Combeferre, his voice full of grief. 

Enjolras couldn’t bear to look at him. He picked at the immaculately bleached bedspread spread over his hideously bony body and shook his head, trying to shrug.

“The doctors said you can’t leave until you gain at least a kilo,” began Joly, and Enjolras flinched. 

“Hey,” said Grantaire hoarsely. Enjolras’s eyes snapped to him, a welcome shadow in the bright and barren room. “Don’t.”

“What? I’m just saying - ”

“Then don’t use numbers,” said Grantaire, his arms folded. “He’s already freaked out enough, don’t you think?”

Joly looked slightly embarrassed. “Sorry,” he muttered. 

Enjolras shook his head. “It’s… it’s okay,” he whispered, still watching Grantaire. “How did you know about the numbers?”

Grantaire looked at him in quiet agony. “Things got pretty bad after my parents kicked me out,” he said finally. “I just know.” 

There was a painful, strained silence.

“Enj?” said Jehan finally. “We’re all kind of wondering… What - what happened?”

There was a soft chorus of agreement; apparently no one understood why he had destroyed himself, why he deserved every inch of suffering he could inflict on himself - but before he could open his mouth, Combeferre beat him to it.

“I should have seen it,” he said quietly. “I shouldn’t have believed you when you said you were fine. I should - I should have done something.”

“What are you talking about?” demanded Eponine, still clinging fiercely to Jehan’s hand. 

“It was the protest a few months ago,” said Combeferre, and Enjolras’s lungs contracted in his chest. “Remember how it got violent?”

“Yes, but… that wasn’t where we were,” said Joly. “We were on the other side of the street, we weren’t involved - ”

“Yeah, you weren’t,” said Combeferre. “But Enj was.”

Jehan gawked at him in horror. “But I thought you said you weren’t there when things got - when they started - ”

“He lied,” said Grantaire sharply. “So you wouldn’t worry.” 

“You were there? When they started beating people?” whispered Jehan. 

Unable to speak, Enjolras retched. 

“Jesus Christ, Jehan,” said Grantaire drily. “Way to put your foot in it.”

Jehan made a helpless, broken noise that Enjolras could only wince at, his stomach contracting and writhing around nothing.

“Someone should grab a nurse,” said Joly, clearly frightened. Enjolras wanted to say  _ It’s fine, don’t worry about it,  _ but couldn’t manage it.

“I’m fine,” gasped Enjolras as Eponine rushed from the room, forcing his stomach back under control.  _ How many times am I going to say that before I realize no one believes me? _

  
  


_ “We should go back with the others!” cried Grantaire. “Enjolras, it’s not safe!” _

_ “It’ll be fine!” shouted back Enjolras. He shoved his way forward through the mutinous crowd, pulling Grantaire with him. Shouldering his way through, he managed to scramble his way up onto a statue of General de LaFayette. He could feel Grantaire’s eyes on him, shining up at him even as his mouth contorted with concern for Enjolras’s safety. People turned to look up at him; he could see fingers pointing at him, and he hoped that they could hear as well as see him. _

_ “Citizens!” cried Enjolras. “Listen! The government is expecting us to become violent! We cannot succumb to their level; we cannot become violent, not even if they beat us to death!” _

_ There was a quiet roar of approval from the group at his feet - the only ones who heard him. Desperate, he cried louder: “Friends! Do not stoop to their level! I know there are those among you today who may wish to hurt them as they have hurt you or your loved ones - do not, for the love of all that we hope for!” _

_ The shouts of approbation were louder this time. Enjolras felt his heart swell as more and more faces turned towards him - people were turning away from the riot police in the far front of the crowd to listen to him. He could feel Grantaire’s gaze on him, and he glanced down at those beautiful eyes before continuing, his heart soaring as they stared back at him, steady and strong. _

_ “We will not fight fire with fire! We will let them beat us but we will not lay a hand on them, our oppressors!”  _

_ There was a great shout of approval. Distantly, Enjolras could see figures forcing their way through the crowd - they were dressed in black, but it did not register in his mind that they were riot police until he could see the reflections of the people at his feet distorted on the plastic of their helmets.  _

_ There was a dull thudding sound, and then a scream.  _

_ A sudden hush fell. And then a great shout of protest rose up as people shoved and pushed away from a scene unfolding at Enjolras’s feet: a young woman, two police clubs raining blows down on her limp form, her eyes fixed on Enjolras’s face with a golden, determined expression. _

_ He could only watch in slow motion as she crumpled on the pavement. He was halfway off the statue as they hauled her away - he was pushing his way through as they dragged her, but at his left ear, another series of thuds, more screams -  _

_ Grantaire’s voice, his calloused hands: “We have to get out of here, Enjolras, now!” _

_ Blindly being led, dragged through the screaming crowd, the smell of fear and urine and blood strong in his mouth, and beneath it all, in his mind,  _ You did this, Enjolras, you, this was all you…

  
  


“We have to leave?”

Jehan’s brows were furrowed. Although most of the Amis had left, Courfeyrac, Combeferre, Jehan, and Grantaire had remained.

“Yes,” clipped the nurse. “Only one of you can stay. I’m afraid it’s the rule.”

“But - ” began Jehan

“Understood,” interrupted Grantaire smoothly. He turned to Enjolras. “Would you like one of us to spend the night with you?”

“Yes,” said Enjolras. 

“Okay, Combeferre, that’s your cue, there’s the chair,” said Grantaire cheerfully. “See you tomorrow, Ap-- ”

“I want you to stay,” said Enjolras, speaking directly to Grantaire. Combeferre, Courfeyrac, and Jehan all looked at him. 

Grantaire looked at him, inscrutable. “Me? Are you sure, Enjolras?”

Enjolras’s throat contracted at the idea of Grantaire leaving.  _ That settles it.  _ “Please,” he managed.

Without hesitation, Grantaire sat down in the chair recently vacated by Jehan. “Of course,” he said, and extended his hand out for Enjolras to hold.

“We want you to try to eat at least one thing on your plate,” said the nurse.

Enjolras looked at his plate in complete revulsion. 

“I’ll make sure he does,” said Grantaire, then whispered softly, “Only if you can.”

Enjolras felt his throat relax, just slightly.

Enough to eat the applesauce.

The glowing numbers on his watch read 02:39. Grantaire’s breathing was a soft and regular rhythm in the darkness next to him. It should have been comforting. 

His collarbone ached. His fingers, unable to remain still, picked frantically at his bedspread. 

02:43.  _ I wonder how much I drank. How many calories - ? Let me think…  _

02:44.  _ A woman was hospitalized because of you. She could have died, and you’re counting calories? What the fuck is wrong with you? _

02:54.  _ It was my fault. I watched it happen. I could have stopped it. _

03:02.  _ It should have been you.  _ He could no longer stop the tears, and felt them flow in hot streams down his face, helpless in the emptiness of the night.

03:09. “It was my fault,” Enjolras whispered into the darkness, unable to keep the words in any longer. “It was my fault.”

“No, it wasn’t,” whispered Grantaire’s voice. Enjolras’s breath hitched, tears falling onto his lips, into his mouth.  _ He’s awake? _

“I know you don’t believe me,” continued that harsh, comforting whisper. “But it wasn’t your fault. I swear to you it wasn’t.” 

Enjolras sobbed.

“Apollo,” said Grantaire. “Can I hold you?”

Enjolras said nothing, just turned towards that beautiful, smoky whisper and opened his arms. 

  
  


Enjolras awoke to the smell of cigarettes, coffee, and Grantaire. “Hmm?”

“Thank goodness,” said Grantaire in a jovial tone. Enjolras could feel his voice vibrate in his chest where his head was resting. “My arm was falling asleep.”

Enjolras shot up in bed and promptly let out a hoarse scream, shooting pains rocketing through his entire left shoulder. 

“Easy, Apollo,” said Grantaire. “I was kidding, you’re fine. Come on back,” he said, opening his arms towards him in a gentle echo of Enjolras the night before.

Enjolras gingerly laid back down, hardly daring to put his head back onto Grantaire’s chest. 

“Sorry, is - is this okay?”

“Are you kidding?” asked Grantaire. “I’ve got an angel in my arms. I’m not complaining.”

Enjolras’s throat lurched violently. “I’m not an angel, Grantaire,” he spat. 

“Yeah, you are,” said Grantaire. “Only angels can sleep in the position you slept in last night without snoring. An example of corporeal perfection. Absolutely flawless. None of the old masters could ever hope to capture your surpassing fairness.”

Despite himself, Enjolras felt his mouth twitch. “Whatever.”

He felt Grantaire shift beneath him. 

“Are we going to talk about this, Apollo?” 

“Talk about what?”  _ My massive repressed crush on you? You rescuing me from riot police? Me crying in front of you? Me sleeping in your arms?  _

“The not-eating thing.”

_ Fuck.  _ “No.”

“Okay,” said Grantaire equably. Enjolras breathed out a sigh of relief. “Just know that I’m here for you. Whatever you need.”

“You’ve already done so much, R,” said Enjolras, suddenly wondering why he hadn’t noticed this before. “That’s so - why  _ have  _ you done so much?” He pushed himself up on his side to look up at Grantaire, who looked very frightened.

“Sorry,” said Enjolras.  _ Good going, asshole.  _ “You don’t have to explain. I should just be grateful. God. Sorry.”

“No,” said Grantaire. “No, it’s fine, it’s okay. We can do this now. We can talk about it, and then I’ll go. Pretty sure the nurse wants me gone anyway.”

“What?” said Enjolras.

Grantaire turned tortured blue eyes on him. “Do you know why I had to save you? Why I had to get you out of there? I looked at that girl and I saw you. I saw you, bloody on the pavement, dying under police batons.” He swallowed. “I had to save you.”

“Why?” demanded Enjolras. “I’m not worth that! That should have been me!”

“Listen to me,” said Grantairevery quietly, looking straight into Enjolras’s eyes. “If that had been you being beaten on the pavement, I would have lost my mind. I would have completely fallen apart. You have to believe me. You are everything to me.”

“Me?”

Grantaire laughed softly, a trapped, wild creature. “That’s why I’m staying. Because you are my whole existence. And because for whatever Godforsaken reason, you _ wanted  _ me to stay. Because if you die from this ‘not-eating thing,’ Enjolras - if I leave and watch you destroy yourself - I will never, ever forgive myself.”

Grantaire swallowed. He looked ready to bolt, or cry. 

The I.V. drip behind them made soft, regular clicking noises.

Enjolras’s throat was blissfully still when he reached up cold, transparent fingers to touch Grantaire’s face. He took in Grantaire’s eyes, his terrified expression, his gentle mouth. He was nearly shaking as he tilted his face up to Grantaire’s, kissing him softly - and then, surrounded in impossible, wonderful warmth as Grantaire’s arms came back around him, pressing him against his chest, his mouth opening against Enjolras’s, his fingers running through Enjolras’s hair. 

Enjolras lost track of the kisses, the whispered endearments, the gentle touches, giving, receiving. He lost track of time and space in Grantaire’s arms. He had a sneaking, thrilling suspicion that Grantaire felt the same phenomenon.

They only reluctantly pulled away from each other as the door opened and a new nurse came in - “just vitals, don’t worry” - and began asking questions as she replaced the I.V. drip. 

“Your blood pressure is much better,” she said brightly. “Probably because of your cuddle buddy,” she added with a wink to Grantaire, who blushed. Enjolras stared at him, unable to help himself.  _ You are everything to me. _

After the nurse left and Enjolras was nestled comfortably back into Grantaire’s embrace, he sighed, closing his eyes briefly.

“Okay,” he said. “Let’s talk about it.”

“What?” said Grantaire. “The - ”

“The not-eating thing.”

Grantaire waited. 

“I think you’re right,” said Enjolras. “ _ Don’t  _ let it go to your head,” he added sternly. “But I think… the food thing is me punishing myself? Kind of? For what happened?”

Grantaire nodded. 

“And if I want to save people - save  _ democracy -  _ I need to not do that.”

Grantaire smiled at him. “Couldn’t have said it better myself.”

“R?”

“Yes, Apollo?”

“Will you stay with me? Whatever happens?”

Grantaire looked at him, steady, golden, even. “Yes.”

**Author's Note:**

> This was largely in direct response to something that happened in my life - I'm currently going through what Enj feels, minus the hospital stay. I'm going to get better, but in the meantime it's hell. Thanks for reading. If you're struggling with any of the issues in this fic, don't be afraid to reach out. Help is there if you need it. Much love.


End file.
